


Skies and Ashes

by Elane_in_the_Shadows



Category: Red Queen - Victoria Aveyard, The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, M/M, crackship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-07 09:39:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15216362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elane_in_the_Shadows/pseuds/Elane_in_the_Shadows
Summary: Maven Calore is the second prince of a country ruled by Grisha kings which Nikolai Lantsov, King of Ravka, visits on a diplomatic mission. Nikolai is unsure what to think about a country so different from his own, but also dominated by the conflict between Grisha and non-Grisha while he feels a certain pull to the second prince. A boy in the shadows but ambitious like him, a prince a bit too curious about the Darkling who is only a legend to Maven. Nikolai is both enraged and excited when talking to him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Nikolai POV**

**I almost slipped** in the sea of magnolia petals spread on the path. Naturally, it earned me a grin from Prince Maven, a perfectly cold and polite smile he must've trained from birth.

"Are your gardeners lazy, Your Highness?" I asked innocently, pointing to the fallen petals.

His expression only became more artificially sweet. It felt like a challenge. "This tree was the favourite of the former queen," the prince said. He leaned with his arms crossed against the gnarled trunk. Sunlight and shadows fell in patterns over his sharply-angled face, glinting in his obsidian earrings. "My brother's mother. You've heard of her, Your Majesty? The vanished queen."

I did. The fabricator queen Coriane didn't return from a journey to the forests north of Norta more than twenty years ago. While Maven's pose was still slack, I noticed a change of tone, a kind of deference swinging in his voice. He wasn't playful about the – likely – dead queen. "My father still loves her," he went on, "wants to keep everything as she liked it." He shrugged. "Although I doubt she cared that much about petals."

"I can imagine," I said, and Maven's gaze turned askance. I _did_ know what he talked about, having my own experiences with sentimental royal fathers, and rumours about the Nortan succession reached out far. That the king preferred his firstborn Fabrikator son to inherit the throne although he wasn't an Inferni like Maven, their father and all other – that was, three in total – Nortan kings before. Or that Maven obviously liked to play the victimized rightful heir while his own mother had been condemned as traitor. It was funny how many relatable stories royals had to tell each other; I started to wonder whether he desired to bond with me from second-born to second-born.

I swiped several petals off my uniform while Maven seemed unperturbed by those lingering on his black curls. I grimaced. "This is a waste of time," I said.

Maven stared at me.

I didn't move.

His eyes fixed – _taxed_ – me with a spark in his blue irises. "The decoration becomes you," he said.

Finally, I turned away. "If you'd would excuse me? Good afternoon, Your Highness," I said over my shoulder.

"Are you sure you want to go back?" he called after me. "I think – "

"I'm certain my charms will be welcome among the noblewomen," I said.

He touched my shoulder, I spun, grabbed his hand, and turned. He gasped.

So did I, to his amusement. "I doubt that, Your Majesty," he said. "I saw your face when you met the ladies Yelena and Eva."

"Oh, don't worry about me, Your Highness," I retorted. "Ravka has plenty to offer in terms of courtly company as well. I'm accustomed to many kinds of formidable women." Inside, I wasn't so certain. I'd hoped to have concealed my shock over the silver-haired Fabrikator Eva and the Sun Summoner Yelena but Maven's eyebrows raised in doubt told be all about my failure.

"Before I met you," Maven began, "no, once your visit to Norta was announced, there have been bets whether you wanted to forge the alliance of our countries with a marriage, Your Majesty."

"Hmph." That again?

"No? Well, the way people talk about unmarried kings. Lady Yelena was the favourite of the bettors – at least those who don't know too much about her. Though I wondered, would the Ravkan king be that desperate to bring home a foreign Sun Summoner?"

"Shut up."

He flinched but couldn't keep his damned mouth closed. "After all, Yelena Morozova has Ravkan ancestors. Or are you afraid to make Sankta Alina less unique – "

I laughed harshly, and his wince pleased me. "You're talking nonsense, Calore. You and I both know Lady Yelena wouldn't be interested and Sun Summoners now exist in Ravka, too. But that erases _nothing_ from Alina Starkova's importance to my country."

He lowered his head but stopped himself before he could mutter a bland apology. He gaped. "You loved her," he marvelled.

I startled, but only for a second. "She was a political ally – " I began but Maven shook his head, with the last of the petals in his head falling down.

"No, it wasn't like that," he insisted, although not without a hint of feeling.

"Who would love a saint?" I cajoled, forcing a nonchalant smile.

By now, he'd given up the banter and presented a strange compassion on his face. And, I noticed, a whiff of sadness. "As if we aren't all idiots when it comes to love," he said.

I found myself patting his shoulder. "Who ... ?" I asked, and he took my hand and shoved it off his shoulder. But he didn't let go of it, nor did I want him to. He looked up in my eyes and again, I couldn't turn away.

"No need to commiserate me," Maven said. "He left me years ago."

"That doesn't mean we can't still miss them," I murmured, although thoughts of Maven, and not Alina, followed me for the rest of the day.

* * *

 

**A/N:** So~~~~~~~~~~~~

I have no idea if y'all will like although I hope you will. It was fun for me and I like to expand my ideas for this crossover (I started to think about tectonic plates lol). But to info dump a little:

Maven is 20, Nikolai is 23.

* * *

 

Norta has become kind of a melting pot over time and fought many wars with her neighbouring countries. The Calores kings took over as they played an important role in establishing the current borders and other agreements with the other nations. However, the political climate remains unstable. Norta lies east of Ravka, on the other side of the mountains. It shares a relatively short border with Shu-Han since the smaller country between them on the southeast has become independent about ~150 years ago. Norta has a rich coastal region and rural, less prosperous highlands (an earthquake region). North of Norta lies a halfway independent forest domain (mentioned in the text) and above that lies another country, something of a Lakelands equivalent. (I also thought of a subcontinent south of Shu-Han and volcanic isles east of Norta. And yes, I should draw a map). Note: I would've loved to include something like Beringia and the land bridge between Russia and America but the geography of the continent doesn't really offer that ☹ (I still think the land bridge between Shu-Han and Kerch should get more attention though.)

Eva and Yelena are of course Evangeline and Elane. I hate writing her full name, and instead of calling her Eve, I decided to change her name to Eva. Since Elane would be a Sun Summoner in the Grishaverse, I was tempted to give her a Russian name and make her a Morozova with Ravkan ancestors who migrated to Norta long ago.

Mare x Cal is a thing, but IDK if you'll see more than allusions to them.

After Coriane vanished, Tiberias married Maven's mother because of political necessities and her family connections. As said in the text, Maven's mother was a deemed a traitor and is currently imprisoned (as you might've figured, she's very different from Elara so IDK if she should even share the same name).

And a huge **thank you** in case you read all my rambling that almost got longer than the story


	2. The Library

**_A/N:_ ** _I didn't mention this in the note to chapter one, but they language they speak is **Ravkan** (the Nortan tongue is a derivative of the Shu-Han proto language). Maven is actually quite skilled with languages, and while Nikolai knows how to communicate in many tongues, I think Maven would be the more elaborate speaker of the foreign language._

**Nikolai POV**

**My guards already** knew what to do – to keep their distance while they did their job, so I could feel almost private. Fortunately, no one else was in the library of Norta’s capital at this hour in the early evening. I walked along the shelves made of dark, lacquered wood, their tops showing off elaborate carvings. The setting sun cast its reddish light on the rich hall, falling on the wood and walls painted with warm ochre stripes.

I relished more the cool temperature in here than the architecture and the hosted books protected by the Grisha craft maintaining the coolness. The climate in Norta was generally humid and warm, especially now since the rain season had started, and the weather didn’t need long to make me uncomfortable. Extreme climates ached me, only that “extreme” was becoming a more and more loose term. The heaviness of my bones, the cramping muscles, the itching skin – they all came at me so often there was hardly a point in avoiding its triggers. Nor did I want to, if it meant giving up the skies and seas and my way of handling politics. Even when they pained me, I needed them, because they reminded me of who I was. So I’d decided to try my best to live with the aches.

But after a few minutes, even the controlled climate lost its soothing effect and suddenly, I began to feel too cool, and a harmless shiver became the harbinger of the more severe and familiar symptoms crawling beneath my skin.

I moaned. _Not now_ , even though now was better than another time. I pulled off the gloves and let my fingers glide over shelves and the leather- and paper-spines of the tomes as I searched for a place to recline in. A glance behind me and I saw one of my guards approaching, sensing the change in my demeanour.

_So awfully competent, aren’t you?_

I passed seat after seat, table after table. I didn’t want to give in so early, but I also disliked most of the chairs in the colours of flames which were made of ostentatiously stuffed and embroidered velvet, itching and hard. They’d only give me more sensory issues.

Down the corridors, I could see a set of chairs in a different colouring, offering me slight hopes. And indeed – there were two soft and brown and cozy leather armchairs, next to a table decorated with an inlaid chessboard and engraved flames, over which stacks of books and papers were piled.

I sunk into the armchair and sighed. I knew how much this rest, just a few minutes of it, would help. I still felt the itches and shivers on and under my skin, but I had to accept that. The weariness, the _strangeness_ , were what really terrified me. I thought my own specific ailments were the reason I usually preferred Genya to accompany me on journeys, even over skies and seas. She knew how to treat my kind of wounds and scars, enduring some of them herself. It was easy to trust her with them, despite her previous machinations.

But it wasn’t the same. As severe as her scars were, in the end, there remained on the surface. She couldn’t relate to being a stranger in your own body, down to your blood and bones, to wake up and wonder who you’d see on the mirror, and if your voice was still there or if you could only scream in your own head.

Which was probably a cruel way to think of it, as if a woman with a maimed face didn’t have moments of doubt s about the person in the mirror.

I leaned back further and closed my eyes, having given up any interest in the books on the table. It was deceptively relaxing, but the nightmares and scars wouldn’t go away, and likely, I’d still feel weary when I got up. Reprieve never lasted, even when a warm beam of sunlight fell on my cheek. I couldn’t not think of Alina, and how the war against the Darkling had left us, her without her Grisha powers, me scarred and sickly, both of us haunted my memories of what we lost and couldn’t have been.

* * *

**One of my** guards cleared his throat, just when a cold gush billowed through the air. I shuddered. Seems like the Nortans’ Grisha crafts to climate rooms wasn’t perfect –

A warm hand touched my shoulder and I opened my eyes with a start. “Are you cold, Your Majesty?” Prince Maven whispered, looming over me from behind my chair.

“No … I,” I stuttered, then cleared my throat. “This library is stunning, Your Highness. I assume you like it since you come here at this time?” _Instead of chatting with the court before dinner._

He chuckled, still so close to me. He met my eyes for a long moment, making his following, “indeed,” almost unnecessary. His palm lingered on me even as he straightened and moved back a step, his warmth staying with me. A welcome feeling, although as temporary as everything I’d tried to ease my state.

“That’s my chair,” he said as he pointed at me and leaned against the one next to mine. The other chair was of the same material, but apparently, that still didn’t make it good enough for the prince who continued to watch me – in _his_ seat.

I changed my position, from dozing idiot to lounging, but formidable monarch. The corners of Maven’s mouth twitched at this. I grinned. “I’m truly sorry, Your Highness. I’ll be gone soon, but for a while, you may take a seat and keep me company.”

He raised an eyebrow, I raised mine. Maven refrained from properly seating himself and remained sitting on the armrest. “Certainly, Your Majesty,” Maven said. “Do you wish a tour of the locality? Or are you content with spying on my lecture?”

I hadn’t spared a glance on the books and papers; now Maven pulled out a stack and skimmed through it. “You think the king of Ravka himself would take part in the ignoble profession of spying?” I said, with a faux shocked expression.

He shrugged, lowering the stack onto his thigh. “According to rumours, I wouldn’t be surprised.”

That didn’t sound too well for my Sturmhond persona, as it was already getting harder to hide it nowadays. “But what are rumours to _us_ , Maven?” I asked.

For a second, he was put aback, before he regained his usual mocking but regal composure. He lifted his hand, a motion so elegant it drew my eyes to him like a puppet on a string. Frilly laces fell over his long fingers. “On the contrary, Your Majesty,” he began. “We are affected most of all. You’ve heard of my mother? _She_ was exalted by rumours,” he balled his fist, “and she was put down by rumours.” With a sweep, he outstretched his arm, going down, turned and opened his hand to indicate the fall of his – currently imprisoned – mother.

“And this happens to kings as well,” he added gloomily, resting his hand on his thigh. But as dramatic as his gesture had been, I noticed the pinch of melancholy in his face. Still his eyes were fixed on me, and now probably pondering on _the other_ rumours about me.

I wasn’t in the mood for his superficial concern. “Don’t tell me you find rumours amusing, Your Highness,” I said.

“No, I find them curious,” he replied. He threw his papers onto the table, bent over, and picked up a book. “A history of Ravka, written last year,” Maven informed me. He licked his fingers and started to thumb through the tome, which appeared quite used despite its relatively young age. “I’ve found it very interesting,” Maven went on, “and helpful so far. It’s one of my favourites.”

I smiled at that for a second. His favourite book was a blend of facts and exotic fiction? That said something about him, I supposed. It needed not to be a bad thing, though. As much time as I spent with scientific reports from engineers, I still loved best the book I’d read as a child, a legend about a girl who wanted to fly, succeeded, but got lost in the end. The story continued to fascinate me.

“I wonder,” said Maven, pulling me out of my memory, “if Your Majesty might not help me with the uncertain matters I’ve encountered in this book, to clarify the facts?”

I frowned. “I hope this interest is purely scholarly and political, Your Highness. Or do you intend to talk about my relationship to the Sun Summoner again?”

“No, no.” He shook his head. “But the Darkling, Your Majesty. You saw him in person.”

That he wasn’t phrasing this as a question was testament to his burning curiosity. It made me ball my fists, turning my knuckles white. “Too often,” I said, inwardly cursing at my lack of subterfuge.

He hesitated. “The author,” he said eventually, “doesn’t know what to make of the shadows soldiers appearing in the year of the Darkling’s rebellion. He isn’t even sure of their name. _Nichevo’ya_ , I think – “

“ _Rebellion?_ ” I snapped. Maven winced. “You believe that is the correct expression for that traitor’s deeds?”

“It’s … you’re right, Your Majesty. The term itself is up for discussion as well, which makes your experiences even more important.”

_For history_ , he might’ve added. And still his eyes gleamed with the curiosity that made me sick. “You sound awfully excited, Your Highness, if I may say so.”

He startled, throat bobbing above his lace cravat. I thought he was a royal and courtier through and through, born and bred, and used to the theatre and power-play. But a part of him was as insecure as everyone else. “I’m sorry to have overstepped,” he said, finally looking down. “The Darkling is a fascinating figure in Norta. He was … like us, well, like my ancestors. My great-grandfather ended Norta’s endless wars by winning them and he became the first king. His acts re-created Norta. Many people – scholars, I mean – see the Darkling as a similar figure. A person of change, a politician and general of inspiration, a symbol –

I couldn’t listen to this any longer. I jumped up, slammed my hand on the table and grabbed Maven by the chin. Now I was the one to fix him with my stare. “You have no idea, do you?” I snapped. “He wasn’t a figure, a symbol, a role-model or whatever your historians say. He was a threat and a terror, and he made me feel _wrong_ in my own skin.”

The outburst relieved me, yet I didn’t let go, not sure I said enough, or too much. Nothing was ever enough, because nothing would ever undo his crimes and abominations.

As I did nothing, Maven’s hands grabbed me by the elbows, and sudden warmth and cold crossing through my uniform and into my flesh. He noticed my surprise.

“Nice trick,” I groaned.

He smiled weakly. “A minor one. Temperature control.”

I let go of his chin with hesitation. It lingered on my fingers, the feeling of the soft skin of his jaw, with only little stubble, the skin of a vain man who shaved frequently. Only as I broke the contact did I realize how much I’d craved and enjoyed doing that. Touching him.

Now Maven maintained our touch, his hands travelling from my elbows to my wrists. I leaned back a little, not pulling away, as he turned my palms down and contemplated my bare hands, with all their scars.

I said nothing, so he might think those were the simple scars of soldier or a sportsman. But if they were that simple, they would’ve been healed by Grisha craft long ago.

When he looked up, a sunbeam, red from the sunset, fell on his light, pale cheek. “So that rumour is true,” he said quietly, his hands once more emitting that soothing warmth. “You are a king of scars, Nikolai.”

I was still remaining silent, barely inclining my head as I took in his handsome angular face, illuminated and set alight by sunlight bright as fire.

I wondered how beautiful he was when using his Grisha gift for real. When he burned.

 


End file.
